


A Rainbow Of Atrophy

by TheSouthernFalconer



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Cuddling & Snuggling, Demons, F/M, Heavy Angst, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Loneliness, Mental Instability, Reunions, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, reversed ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:07:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26218360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSouthernFalconer/pseuds/TheSouthernFalconer
Summary: She knows him, how he struggles with gentleness- how he has not known it well, but the flesh of one hand trembles against where she’s hurt herself again, and the gold of another cradles her face as though he loves her.She knows him, she remembers his name. It aches inside of her like all her bones have been crushed at once-Montag.No.“Lucio.”*To keep time and hope alive before the world descends into chaos, Sybilla takes on her patron's task. The Wheel Of Fortune, Reversed.He will follow her, anywhere.
Relationships: Apprentice/Lucio (The Arcana)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	A Rainbow Of Atrophy

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Self Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Depressive Thoughts, Loneliness
> 
> Times are rough, be careful!

Sometimes, she thinks she remembers. It’s gone before she could chase it, like a dream before she awakens, like an illusion before it shatters into thin air. The Devil liked to devise new, excruciating likenesses before they all, like everything else, vanished. What was his name? There were two- three? She looked down at her claws- sleek black, sharpened for the kill. It was pointless. The Wheel knows no hunger, save for this. This thing under her skin that tears her apart from the inside out. There were slender, paper pale fingers where these claws had been, she remembers sometimes. And they had slid over fabric, over skin, warmed with magic and shields and- what was his _name_? What was hers? There was snow, once. That much she knows. Her realm is an ever-shifting kaleidoscope- she thinks it moves every moment that her heart beats- and yet it all falls empty. All must return to nothing, and nothing must become all.

There was someone else too, and their eyes were as feline as hers. “As long as The Wheel turns, there is hope.” A weak, weak whisper. “It shall start with pain, only pain, but you are strong, Sybilla.”

 _Oh._ Her name. There was a being in this realm before she had taken their place.

“Don’t come here with your mischief.” She’d warned the Devil. He’d only laughed. “Does it not get boring here? The Wheel Reversed is no fun at all.”

Something familiar in that petulance.

Sybilla was a woman with pale green eyes and black freckles blooming across her snow-white skin. Sybilla was her, before she was not.

Everything passes, and yet she is so very sad.

_Murderer. Traitor._

_You destroy everything you touch._

_Coward._

She doesn’t know who or what the voices are- but she swipes her claws at them. She hears them hiss and cower before her. “You cannot hurt me.” Her voice is a growl. “You _cannot_ hurt me.”

_No._

_You inflict, never stay to suffer._

_Coward._

Sometimes her claws come back with clumps of her own fur, a streak of blood down the skin of her face. Did she do this too, the woman that she used to be? An old instinct- of wanting sharpness against skin, and then a pair of silver eyes, frightened, outraged, and pleading.

 _Stop._ His voice. She thinks she remembers his arms around her, and she thinks she begins to cry. _Stop. It’s okay. I’m here. I’m here._

Noone is. Noone save for her.

The Wheel before her was a happier being. The woman before her too, she thinks. If the slivers of memory are anything to go by, she had not been alone. This realm is a castle- and it’s own kind of prison. Spirits creep in through the window-

_Have something to gamble, dear Wheel?_

Oh, she could never resist, but they never stopped for a game. Only watched the roulette spin with vacant eyes- before she remembered- she had nothing. These walls were once rich with ephemeral gold, gems in colours too dazzling for the human eyes- and now- now they lie empty. Even the colors shifting against those bare walls, even the shadow she cast against the translucent floor, even the sounds these ears- these twitching ears tall above her head picks up- are empty.

_I have nothing to gamble. Nothing to gain and nothing to lose._

The Spirits slink away, disappointed but unsurprised.

Another scratch against the spot on her arm where skin seams into black and grey fur. The blood seeps back in, and she lets out a mewl of frustration. She wears what remains of an old gown- feathers of many colors dulled with dust. Whenever she tries to think of happiness, there is an echo of music and the sound of his laughter. It hurts.

It hurts so much that she wishes she could die. Time never dies. It simply lies in wait for nothing.

She does not twitch when she hears rapid footfalls against the marble of her castle. She thinks she must be dreaming again, or having another vision, when she hears wingbeats, and then the frantic sounds of dogs barking.

Nothing ever comes here anymore.

When the sounds get closer, she waves a hand. Leave. Torment someone else. Whoever else exists there, in what used to be a world.

“Lillie!”

_No._

His voice echoes in the emptiness, and she cannot, _cannot_ do this anymore. She rises, her teeth bared, her paws and claws poised to strike, her fangs to bite-

And he cowers, with the dogs, but he does not run.

“Leave,” she snarls. “You have no place in my domain.”

His eyes are frantic, darting from the ears above her silver hair to her clawed feet, and his face twists in so much pain that she wonders if she had hurt him. “Lillie-“ his voice is breaking, and that name, that _name-_

“It’s me,” he stumbles forward, the dogs whining at his heels, “It’s _me.”_

Tears are spilling down his cheeks, and she strikes, swiping her claws at his face, but there is no force to it, no heart in it, because he grasps her by the wrist, his fingers sinking into the fur there, and he flinches, he recoils, but he still holds her there, her claws inches from his face. “Leave-“ her voice is shaking, but she does not know why.

And he, foolish, reckless, ruthless thing that he is, surges forward to kiss her.

Her mouth parts in a gasp and her fangs prickle at his lips. He shivers, and throws his arms around her. Her heart twists and aches and burns and something slams into her like a bolt of lightning. The pain makes her reel back, and he follows, open-mouthed and guilty, still desperately clutching to the torn sleeves of her gown, like he cannot bear to let go. His lips are bleeding but his hand, golden and sharp, wipes it away. She wants to strike him, to make it stop hurting, but she cannot move- it is agony- pain and longing and hope and wretchedness and remembering that she had him once, had him once, and lost him, had him again, and lost him then too- she couldn’t keep him, couldn’t keep him, couldn’t-

“Stop!” He’s tugging at her- weakly, or maybe this body of hers is so much stronger than his. “Don’t do that, Lillie- don’t do that!” Her claws come back up, bloody again, three angry gouges on the skin and fur of her shoulders. She knows him, how he struggles with gentleness- how he has not known it well, but the flesh of one hand trembles against where she’s hurt herself again, and the gold of another cradles her face as though he loves her.

She knows him, she remembers his name. It aches inside of her like all her bones have been crushed at once-

_Montag._

_No._

“Lucio.”

He heaves a sigh, and his breath is soft against her. He is still shaking, still sobbing, still whining deep in his throat to be closer to her, as though he manages to find comfort in her, even now, even in this form. And now that she knows him, she cannot help it. Her arms wind around him and she pulls him close. “I’m real,” he cries. “I promise, I _promise_ -“ a frustrated, terrible whine, as he remembers he is not one to speak of keeping promises. “I love you.”

That he cannot lie about.

He presses a frantic kiss to her cheek. To the skin, and then to the fur that begins to fan out from either side of her cheekbones. “I love you, I’ve missed you, I’ve _missed_ you, I’m sorry-“

That too, he cannot lie about.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so-“

“Lucio.”

Something alien to this body tears through her.

“You can’t love me.” She tells him.

“I can.” He grips both her shoulders, his eyes burning. “I can. I do. I love you.”

He’s such a _fool._

She weeps, taking his face in her hands, her ugly, scarred, clawed, disgusting-

“You can’t love me. I am not the same.”

“Noone is.” His eyes bear into hers, and she knows the determination there. He once wore it all the way to a demon’s mouth, carried straight to a throne, wore it when he was spitting up blood on the bed where he burnt to death, wore it when they’d gone to the sea to seek the world.

She doesn’t deserve him, not after she has failed him.

“Do _you_ still love me?” His words are faltering now, uncertain. She stares at him. His hair is longer now, worn up in braids like he did when he was a child. His shirt is ripped open, the pale skin there horribly scarred. The dogs nip at her gown, lick at the fur on her legs.

She knows she should lie, say no, but she is so tired, _so_ tired.

She cannot look at him, at his wounded eyes and his scarred, beautiful body, the boy she loved and then the man, cannot see his tears and his wretched desperation- and _lie_ to him.

This heart was not made to be immortal.

“Of course I do.”

And he sinks against her like _he_ couldn’t believe it. “I’ve missed you,” he sobs. “I couldn’t protect you, I-you’re hurt, oh _Lillie-_ “

“I’m sorry too.” She whispers. She feels the castle quiver- she hurts, she hurts so much.

“ _No.”_ He says fiercely. He presses another carelessly desperate kiss to her lips. He sits back then, kneeling on the ground. She is so much taller than him now. He unsheathes his sword- the blade still smeared with drying blood. She sees herself in the steel- her human face with her feline eyes, the large puma’s ears and the fur beginning from her forearm and down her knees, ending in large, clawed paws, the long black tail curled around the floor in a winding spiral. She shakes her head, and her silver hair ripples like a waterfall.

“I’m going to kill him.” He says. “That twisted-“ he bares his teeth just like she did. “I’ll rip the Devil’s heart out and lay it at your feet.”

“Lucio-“

“Lillie,” he sheathes the sword and slams back against her, this time guiding her head to his chest. Her body has to maneuver and turn for it to work, but it does, and his heart still, _still_ speeds against her touch. He runs his hands through her hair, practiced fingers _scratching_ behind the fur of her ears, and he laughed, _laughed-_ what a sound.

“You’re just a big kitty, aren’t you?” he’s cooing now, impossibly.

 _Puma._ And besides, she thought he liked dogs better.

He scoffs, and she realizes she has said it aloud. “I love _you._ ” The bravado is as fragile as he feels, and yet it takes a brave stand. “ _And_ I give the _best_ scritches.”

She hears a gyrfalcon’s cry, a soft weight landing against her shoulders.

_In any world, in every world, deep beneath the earth or high above the sky, from the depths of an icy river or the gilt-and-marble of a throne, in ash and in dust, in blood and in the mud, through every continent and every land and every twist of fate and trick of time, I will find you._

_In life and in death I will find you._

_If it costs my soul to have you,_

_If it costs the world to keep you,_

_I will find you._

_Be it in heaven, be it in hell, be it between the twenty-two realms as time breaks like glass around us, I will find you._

_Every ounce of me will search for every ounce of you. Mangled or broken or turned or tormented- I will find you wherever you go. I will find you even when you’ve lost yourself. There is no place you can go that I will not follow you to, no bridge, no boundary high or strong enough to keep me away from you._

She must have died.

Somewhere between those tall empty walls, she thinks she must have died.

She says that aloud too, and Lucio holds her, his tears spilling on to her hair and fur. His fingers find the spot behind her ears again, his nails combing through the fur just _right-_

And when the sobs subside, and the castle shifts again, she feels it in her throat, _hears_ it where her too-big body is nestled against him. She’s confused for a moment, and then a jolt of shock and embarrassment.

Oh, she’s _purring._

**Author's Note:**

> The Wheel is in the form of a Puma on Asra's deck- hence.  
> Title from "In Fantasia" by Kishi Bashi


End file.
